These Nights
by Ishonn
Summary: — Remus doesn’t really like alcohol, but these nights it’s become necessity. —RemusSirius postHogwarts


**A/N:** Many thanks to **PaulaMcG **for her amazing help in editing this piece.  
All feedback — praise and criticism, open and anonymous, public and private — will be treasured. I will reply to every review.

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_Remus doesn't really like alcohol, but these nights it's become necessity._

They're hardly seeing each other any more. As if they weren't living together, as if they weren't Remus-and-Sirius. As if some stupid war were able to spoil everything between them, after eight years.

_Just wine, preferably red, semi dry._

There are all kinds of explanations, obviously. Like their separate jobs which seem to take more and more time. Like their separate Order missions which seem to become more and more secret.

_Sometimes he forgets to replenish his store and it's too late to go out and get something. On such nights, with rising aversion he pulls out Ogden's Old Firewhisky from the cupboard. It tastes disgusting. But it works._

Remus hates waking up to an empty bed. It's so melodramatic: his hand wandering over the mattress in half-slumber, searching for a warm body, finding nothing. Like in some corny American film, really.

_U__sually it's just wine, though. The first glass goes slowly as he tries to savour it._

Even more than that Remus hates to wake only to see Sirius get up swiftly and head off to the shower, without a look backwards. Without a touch.

_The second glass makes him feel sick. The third one makes him shudder, so he gulps it down quickly. The fourth doesn't impress him at all._

Sometimes they breakfast together. Meaning, Sirius is drinking his coffee while Remus is making them toast. Sirius leaves for work before it's ready.

_It's after the fourth one that Remus allows himself to relax on the __couch: he tilts his head back onto the backrest and stares at the ceiling, the empty glass dangling precariously from his fingers. He stays this way until his head starts to spin. Then he sits up again and pours himself more wine._

If neither of them has a mission to carry out in the afternoon or the evening, they share a simple dinner and exchange a few remarks about work or friends, sometimes they even laugh. Eventually they go to bed, each on his side.

_The next few glasses he drinks more slowly, observing how the edges of the mantelpiece before him get blurred like __on an old photograph. Which is a silly thought, as they don't have any old photographs on the mantelpiece._

But recently there's always been missions to carry out. Separate, secret missions.

_At some point he starts to laugh. Because it's all so bloody funny, isn't it? That he's sitting here alone, drinking, while Sirius is sitting alone in some cheap bar, drinking as well. Awfully funny, that is._

When Remus comes back long after midnight, dirty and tired, oh so very tired, Sirius is waiting for him. He jumps up from his place by the kitchen table — his coffee must have turned cold by now — he jumps up and strides to the hall where Remus is taking off his coat.

_But Remus is a big boy and he composes himself before his laughter can change into sobs. No undignified crying here, oh no. More wine, that's what he needs._

Remus leans against the door and waits as Sirius looks him over carefully without moving from his spot, searching for signs of blood or magical injuries. The tension leaves his shoulders as he sees nothing but a few scratches maybe.

_Usually he reaches the bottom of the second bottle before he's drunk enough to __pass out. So he lies on his side with open eyes and tries counting sheep, which somehow turn into black sheep, which somehow turn into black dogs, and that's when he thinks that perhaps he's not such a big boy after all. _

And this is it. Sirius reaches for his jacket and brushes past Remus, and then he's gone.

_He's finally falling asleep when there's the sound of the key turning, some shuffling in the hall and __unsteady feet padding over to his couch. And then — a warm hand on his arm and a breath reeking of alcohol against his ear, and soft words that mean nothing, nothing, nothing._

It doesn't take long before Remus gives up. He knows he won't fall asleep, he doesn't even feel like trying. He shrugs half-heartedly and opens the cupboard.

_He offers the__se words back while Sirius is helping him up, and together they make their way to the bedroom, their bedroom._

Remus doesn't really like alcohol, but these nights it's become necessity.


End file.
